Lille Trille
Laae paa Hylde;
Lille Trille
Faldt ned af Hylde.
Ingen Mand
I hele Land
Lille Trille curere kan.
Which may be thus translated:
Little Trille
Lay on a shelf:
Little Trille
Thence pitch'd himself:
Not all the men
In our land, I ken,
Can put Little Trille right again.
And Mr. Stephens has preserved two copies in his MS. Swedish collections. The first is from the province of Upland:
Thille Lille
Satt på take';
Thille Lille
Trilla' ner;
Ingen läkare i hela verlden
Thille Lille laga kan.
Thille Lille
On the roof-tree sat;
Thille Lille
Down fell flat;
Never a leech the world can show
That Thille Lille can heal, I trow.
Another from the province of Småland:
Lille Bulle
Trilla' ner å skulle;
Ingen man i detta lan'
Lille Bulle laga kan.
Down on the shed
Lille Bulle rolled;
Never a man in all this land
Lille Bulle helpen can.
It will now only be necessary to refer to the similarities pointed out in other parts of this work, to convince the reader that, at all events, a very fair case is made out for the truth of the positions we have contended for, if, indeed, sufficient evidence of their absolute truth is not adduced. They who are accustomed to researches of this kind, are too well aware of the facility with which the most plausible theories are frequently nullified by subsequent discovery; but there appears in the present case to be numerous conditions insoluble by any other supposition than that of a common origin, and we are therefore fully justified in adopting it as proved.
Turning to the nursery rhymes of our own country, it will tend materially to strengthen the results to which we have arrived, if we succeed in proving their antiquity in this island. We shall be enabled to do so satisfactorily, and to show that they are not the modern nonsense some folks may pronounce them to be. They illustrate the history and manners of the people for centuries. Here, for instance, is a relic in the form of a nursery rhyme, but in reality part of a political song, referring to the rebellious times of Richard the Second. [6]
My father he died, I cannot tell how,
But he left me six horses to drive out my plough!
With a wimmy lo! wommy lo! Jack Straw, blazey-boys!
Wimmy lo! wommy lo! wob, wob, wob!